


this time i'm ready to run

by phanetixs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, a sixth form/university au, a special valentine's-y ending, and even less smut, some underage thingies but not explicit, with 0.5s of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 09:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13678848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: "Uh. Dunno. No one really caught my fancy.” And then, catching Dan looking at him with his eyebrow raised, he amends: “Americans are not really my type.”Or, the one where Dan's best friend comes home from America and things are decidedly Not the same.





	this time i'm ready to run

**Author's Note:**

> uh, well, this was a...journey.
> 
> all my thanks to my wonderful beta @phinalphantasy7 for all their help - especially with punctuation because i'm the actual Worst?? and this is for al & b, who offered to buy me coffee if i managed to 10k this. check the word count, bros, i figure i deserve at least a _hug_ with that vanilla latte.
> 
> happy valentine's from your resident singleton! enjoy xx

 

Dan’s been on edge all day. He feels the thrum of excitement and anxiety bubbling underneath his skin, threatening to bubble up and pop a vein or something. He hopes it’s the something. And though he wants death basically three quarters of the time really, there’s no use dying _now_ when he’s been counting down to this day for months.

God, four months. He hasn’t seen Phil in _four_ months.

He boils himself a cup of Yorkshire, two tea bags because he needs a double dose of caffeine, and he settles on the sofa. His leg bobs up, down, up, and Phil said he’d come over after afternoon tea with his family. Dan had whined, come before then, on text the other day and felt intensely selfish afterwards.

His family probably misses him as much as, or even more than, Dan does. He knows that in a superficial sense but he also believes: no one could’ve missed Phil more than him. Still, he can probably afford to wait twenty minutes.

“Not here yet, dear?” Mum asks, padding down the stairs and amused at the position Dan’s in. Fetal, and watching the window for any flurry of movement.

Dan sighs, and says, almost to himself. “Soon, Mum.”

It’s almost pathetic how easily he put his life on hold while Phil was off traipsing around in New York —attending an all-expenses paid film internship at NYU in his gap year before university. He barely remembers much from the past few months except: studying too hard for AS (the bane of his existence this first A-Levels year) because his prime distraction was an ocean away, and eating crisps with PJ, and watching Korra alone but still hearing Phil-like commentary ringing in his head.

Someone’s ringing the doorbell now, shaking him out of his reverie, and Dan almost trips himself on the way to the door, somehow managing to bang his shin against the doorjamb, and flings the door wide open. It’s Phil, _fucking_ finally, but he’s speaking to Gemma from across the road, and Dan can only see the back of his head—hair cropped closer to his face but Dan can still see a bit of that Emo Fringe and feels overwhelmingly like some part of himself is returning too.

Dan clears his throat—as politely as he can, which is not very polite at all— and feels his breath catch instantly when Phil whirls around.

He catches a flash of an undecipherable look on Phil’s face before he’s being hauled into a massive hug, enveloped wholly by Phil’s scent.

 _God, god,_ Dan thinks as his brain combusts with the way Phil’s arms comfortably circle his waist and Dan can feel the squeeze of Phil’s biceps.

And even though the way Phil’s lips graze Dan’s cheek is almost instinctive at this point, Dan can feel his heart mysteriously jackrabbiting in his chest. Everything’s _too_ _much_ but the feeling washes over him like a tidal wave and he clings on Phil in a particularly embarrassing way. Whatever. Phil’s seen worse of him.

“God, I’ve missed you so much,” Phil whispers as he pulls away, leaving Dan breathless but craving Phil’s touch again. Four months is too long, Dan resolutely decides. Phil’s never going anywhere without Dan again.

“You’re back,” Dan says, smiling so wide he thinks his dimple might burst, and drinking in the sight of Phil: slightly tanner skin, big cerulean eyes and wide shoulders tight in a plaid shirt. “You look good!” Dan says appreciatively.

Phil blushes—at least some things haven’t changed—and hurriedly brushes past Dan on the way into the house when he hears Mum’s excited hello.

“Heyyy,” Dan laughs but goes anyway to peek between the gaps in the stairwell by the door, and he sees Phil embrace Dan’s mum and ruffle his brother’s hair (only to receive a half-hearted glare in return). Colin bounds over to Phil and tackles him to the ground with sloppy dog licks.

Dan takes a deep breath and tries to contain his giddy smile. His best friend is _back. The balance of the universe is hereby restored._

 

-

 

“So how was New York then?” Dan asks when they’re both all settled and lounging on the sofa. Phil’s stealing his crisps— one thing Dan _didn’t_ miss while he was away, thank you very much— but Phil has got this grin on and Dan honestly couldn’t be half bothered. There’s a muted rerun of Emmerdale on the telly and it’s almost nighttime now.

Phil prattles on about his professors; burly middle-aged American men in vests most of them, and tells him about that indie movie he worked on in his last month— “ _of course I illegally downloaded it on my USB for you, who do you take me for, Daniel.”_

It’s nothing Dan hasn’t heard before, their weekly Skype calls enough for Phil to fill him in (hah!) on all things New York and assure Dan that _yes, I’m fine_ and _Jesus, you’re worse than me mum, I tell ya._ Because Dan worries. And Dan felt sick anxiety swirl during the weekends he didn’t hear back from Phil—and that’s fine because they’re like that. They’re best mates like that, and Phil would’ve been the exact same way if Dan were in his position.

“Your hair is curly now,” Phil comments, taking a long sip of tea.

“Good observation, Phil,” Dan mumbles, twirling a wild curl around his finger. “Letting the beast out of its cage, I suppose,” he sighs. It wasn’t as much of a _makeover_ thing as much as it was an “ _I couldn’t be arsed to do this_ ” thing. And he has to concede that he looks better without the fringe anyway, what Phil’s been telling him for years.

“I like it,” Phil says earnestly, nudging a stray lock away. They hold eye contact for a few moments before Phil laughs. “ _Anyhoo_ , me and my fringe, Glinda, will be here for a long time, won’t we, baby.”

“Glinda?” Dan snorts.

“It’s _Ga_ -linda, Daniel, don’t be rude.”

And then Phil spends ten minutes cooing at his hair because he’s insane like that and Dan’s just—Dan’s just happy he’s home. (That still doesn’t stop him from posting a picture of Phil fondling his fringe on Instagram with the caption: _ten years and counting._ )

 

-

 

A week later, Dan is woken up to loud knocks on his bedroom door. His bedside clock tells him it’s close to eight on a Sunday (!!) morning, and it’s also fucking cold, so he groans loudly and rolls back to sleep.

“Wherefore art thou, my love,” says a mocking voice.

 _Ugh_ , stupid PJ and his stupid predisposition to early mornings because he’s a little bitch, that’s what it is. Dan tells him as much, and practically _hears_ PJ’s eye roll and the way he angles his body closer to the door.

“Listen. I’m not coming in because the last time I did I got an eyeful of—“ PJ cuts himself off with a cough.

“Oh, please _go on_ , PJ,” Dan taunts with a small smirk because PJ’s too much of a prude to admit he caught Dan polishing off his morning stiffy when he barged in two Sundays ago. _Hah._ PJ bangs his head against Dan’s door in response.

“Sod off, Peej,” Dan shouts finally when he realizes after a few minutes that PJ’s still breathing outside his door like the weirdo he is. He wonders if Mum voluntarily lets him in because she enjoys watching Dan suffer on Sunday mornings as well. Since he stopped going to church with his Nan and began his strut into — what Mum labeled venomously— _the world of sex, drugs and rock & roll _. Minus the drugs part. And the only sexy times he has nowadays are courtesy of his left hand. Whatever.

( _Is MCR even rock & roll? _ his mind treacherously wonders.)

“Two minutes and we’re going jogging,” PJ says sternly and trudges down the staircase loudly for extra effect. His dad begins mowing grass outside with his newly-bought grass cutter and it’s like _everyone’s_ conspiring to get Dan the fuck out of bed.

Everyone except Phil, that is, because Phil’s a sweetheart who could do no wrong.

Suddenly, Dan’s phone pings loudly. It’s Phil: _peej told me 2 txt. get your arse out of bed dan._

Dan rolls over into his pillow and screams.

 

-

 

“Soooo, Phil’s back, huh?” PJ asks as they’re jogging—walking, if he’s being the least bit honest— through the usual route, looping around the neighborhood and stopping to play with their neighbors’ dogs. Basically the only reason Dan ever goes on these runs anyway.

“Yeah,” Dan says. “But s’not like you didn’t know, innit? Phil sent me pics of you both playing Zelda in his house after school,” Dan rolls his eyes and PJ laughs. “Oh dear, jealousy isn't a good look on you,” PJ replies, kicking at a bit of residual snow on the pavement.

It’s almost Christmas break now and Dan’s looking forward to it. Summer was a bit of a drag, what with Phil like a gazillion kilometers away, but now the trio’s complete and Dan can’t tamp down his excitement.

Dan rolls his eyes again and rubs his gloves together. “Oh, jealousy is my middle name, kumquat.”

“ _Especially_ when Phil’s involved, amirite?” PJ says, not so quietly, and Dan reaches out to punch him in the shoulder and tries to trip him when PJ breaks out into a sort-of-unfit-person run.

“Teasing’s getting a bit _old,_ ain’t it, dearie?” Dan says, laughing when PJ actually _does_ run into Mrs. Johnson’s rubbish bin and gains the attention of her fierce wolf-like Persian cat. An oxymoron if there ever was one.

“Alright, I’ll stop when _you_ realize the _you and Phil tiptoeing around each other_ shtick is the one getting a bit old.”

Dan stops and eyes PJ warily. “Y’can’t be serious, Peej. Me and Phil. That’s like. Dunno—“ _Aha._ “Oh, oh, it’s like your _mom_ and her _sister_ making out. We’re too close.”

“ _Ewww_.” And okay, the punch to the neck that came with it was a bit too violent and Dan _75 percent_ Didn’t Deserve It. Rude. “You and Phil are not like mum and Aunty Sylvia— _you are officially uninvited from mum’s Christmas dinner, you fucking wanker_ —simply because like you and Phil have enough sexual tension to power like. A country or summat.”

“Number one: fuck _off_ . Number two: fuck the _fuck_ o—“

“You swear too much,” PJ says simply. “And I dunno what you’re ‘fraid off anyway, Dan. Like I saw how upset you were when Phil was gone—it was like you were _lost_ without ‘im round, and it’s going to get worse with Phil applying to university abroad and—“

“Wait.” Dan interrupts. “Abroad, as in?”

PJ visibly looks rooted to the spot. He doesn’t speak for a minute, looks vaguely guilty, and Dan gets more confused because Phil wouldn’t, right? Not if they had a whole plan made for when they both move to London for university—Phil beating him to it by a year—and bunk in a cheap flat together, two bedrooms (and a small lounge) because that’d be all they can afford till they start working and eventually move into a cozier apartment.

Him and Phil together. That was the plan.

“As in?” Dan repeats, his voice punched out and soft.

“We were chattin’ the other day and he mentioned something about wanting to apply to NYU,” PJ admits then, and Dan feels his stomach bottom out. He turns away, pulls his coat closer to his body because it feels like all the warmth was let out.

“ _Dan.”_ “We should go back, yeah? Getting a bit chilly out ‘ere.”

PJ stops in front of him.

" _Dan_ , listen, I thought he told you about this? He seemed, dunno. Like something’s changed, yeah? I thought that you— y’told him about your _feelings_ or.” PJ looks earnest enough when he searches Dan’s face for a reaction and something within Dan breaks a bit. “Maybe not.”

Dan shakes his head. “What feelings?” Dan laughs bitterly. “How many times do I have to say I don’t like _like_ Phil and have your thick head understand that.”

PJ looks the least bit offended, but mostly he looks resigned to the fact. “Yeah, yeah, okay then. Let’s head back.”

 

-

 

(Dan was five when he first met Phil.

There had been a weird boy in his garden, poking at some begonias Mummy planted, and Dan’s first instinct had been to shoo him away like he would Georgie, their pet Labrador, when he was being naughty. The boy didn’t look older by much, and he had an awful bowl cut and wore striped pants and somehow he was everything Dan wanted to be when he grew up. Or grew _older_ , at least.

“S’flowers are Mummy’s!” Dan had said loudly to get the boy’s attention. The boy had been poking more vigorously at the dirt with his tiny finger and Dan was growing more and more confused. “Mummy said the dirt will get your hand all yucky with bactureaaa!!” Dan had insisted, more agitated.

“I am _sef-ven,_ too old for yucky bacturea,” the ginger boy had sniffed, sounding like Uncle John from “up there on the map” as his dad explained last Christmas. Dan turned his attention back and the boy looked seemingly engrossed in the soft pink of the flowers, flourishing in the late summer sun and the tinge of ensuing cold. Dan shivered lightly, only in thick socks and his best cotton pyjamas.

He couldn’t do anything but inch closer to the boy, and put on his most seraphic smile. “Hello, I am Dan. Mummy will be home soon and she will ask you to go back.” Much later, he would realize passive-aggressiveness is his best trait, all things considered.

“I am Phil. My parents, brother, and me came here from Manchester, y’know where it is?” Phil had asked—grinning brightly like Dan hadn’t just quasi-threatened him—as Dan was trying to figure out which colour his eyes were. Maybe it wasn’t something he’d learnt with Mum yet, it looked too weird.

Dan shook his head, a bit in awe of the boy already. “ _Manchester?_ ”

Phil shrugged and pointed out the boy on the red bicycle on the road outside, pedaling towards a bungalow at the far end. “S’my brother. Martyn. I would not say hi, if I was you. He smells funny.”

And then, just like that, they were friends.)

 

-

 

Dan doesn’t see Phil for a week after his run with Peej. He blames it on his “horrendous amounts of schoolwork” when Phil texts him to meet up somewhere midweek but it’s a lie. It seems like Dan has been living under an assumption of a lie since he was _thirteen_. Since back when Phil suggested the London flatshare in the first place.

The thing is: he can’t blame Phil one bit. He can’t—it’s _his_ jealousy, ultimately. The feeling in his stomach when he sees Phil getting caught up in the “oh-so-amazing Big Apple or summat” and then envisioning himself moving to London alone, probably studying something boring like Biology—or worse, Law.

He has no concrete dreams; it’s not fair for him to pin some hope on at least having kept Phil, at the end of it all.

It’s jealousy, sick and swirling, and he feels like the worst human being. The worst _best friend_ . London was never going to work out anyway, he thinks, as he scrawls some shitty emo poem on the corner of his textbook: _leaves grow in time and love / fall so easily with a gust of wind / a cycle oft repeated._ He sighs and heaves a long breath.

“Dan?” There’s soft knocking on his bedroom door and it’s _Phil_ , Christ. How does he have such timing, Dan wonders, calling out for him to come in. He can’t hide from his fears forever, but he resolves to let things unravel on their own time. His meddling would seem out of place in the current situation.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Phil tells him, plopping down on his bed and looking largely unaffected by the mess of his room—having seen it in a worse state hundreds of moments before.

Moments, is what they’ve had. Dan’s heart clenches at the thought of Phil being too far away to make any more.

“All right?” Phil asks.

“Mmm,” Dan hums noncommittally, suddenly seeming very interested in the thread of his jumper, the end a bit loose, and he winds the string around his pinky. “S’just been busy—dunno, school and all that.”

“Yeah, you said,” Phil says then, despondent tone, and Dan desperately wants to say something else, _anything_ to get the frown off his face. “Do you need help with it or…” The _I could leave you to it_ , goes unspoken but the offer hangs in the air anyway. The tension in the air feels so awkward, all of a sudden, and— and Dan thinks it’s stupid to worry about something that’s _hypothetical_ anyway.

Hypothetical, up until the point Phil does tell him, and his university choice is a done deal.

He’s missed Phil so much.

“Yeah, I said,” he mimics in a northern-Phil voice, much like the accent he had when they first met, and Phil lets out a loose giggle. “I don’t _actually_ need help with anything—not that I’d ask you, Mr-So-Bad-At-Maths—but I’m knackered. Wanna go get a bite?”

Phil’s face lights up and his mouth twitches up imperceptibly and he looks so unbearably fond that Dan has to look away.

“C'mon then, to Hills we go.”

 

-

 

 _Hills_ , they call it, after the family that owns it, and not its god-given on-the-fucking-signboard name. The Hills have been around for ages, since before even Dan’s grandparents had moved to the neighbourhood right before the war. They were a raucous bunch, Mr and Mrs Hill and their son Jimmy— _Dan’s arch-nemesis_ Jimmy, but he won’t get into that. Tldr: the dude just gives him a bad vibe, which in Dan's book, puts him on the cover of his metaphorical Burn Book. 

He won't get into that _now_  because Phil takes his hand while they walk over and swings it between them like kids in primary. It makes Dan blush, and he burrows further into his scarf to conceal it. One of Phil’s favourite things is to hold hands, and Dan’s almost forgot the way Phil’s hand was just that bit bigger and encased his fingers in a vice grip. Like he never wants to let go.

They push open the door to _Hills Brekkie_ —but like, they serve lunch and dinner, too? —and take their spot in a booth. Mr. Hill bounds over to them, and breaks out the widest grin. “Ah, Phil, lad, you’re back!” He gives Phil the most fatherly pat on the back and Dan has to hold back giggles when Phil winces due to the force of it.

“What do you boys want on this fine evening? We have _pancakes_ —“ he shoots Phil a grin because Phil could inhale two plates’ worth even on a bad day, “or a smoothie, maybe?”

“Pancakes and two hot chocolates, please,” Dan orders for the both of them and watches as he heads to the kitchen, bellowing loudly to the cooks about Phil’s return and “Linda, dear, your most special brekkie is wanted, aight?”

“Haven’t been here in awhile,” Dan admits, when there’s a lull in conversation; a break between one Pokémon rant and the next. “Peej and I went to that new place in the city.”

“You spent a lot of time with PJ, then?” Phil asks slowly, sipping on his tea and covering the bottom half of his face.

“Yeah?” Dan shrugs. “Dunno—we sort of. Connected? Weird word, but. When you were away. Like there was no buffer between us so we talked a bunch. We played that new Zelda that came out, too, like—“

“ _Connected_ ?” Phil asks then, and _what_? Phil decides to focus on that part and not Zelda? Dan can’t decipher his asking tone or his expression, made worse by the fact that Phil is fastidiously avoiding eye contact and fixing his stare on the menu beneath his right arm.

“I mean like, we proper talked and shit—“ Dan smiles then, thinking of the time PJ first found him face down on his carpet and refused to leave until Dan explained his crisis in detail. “Yeah, he’s—um, a good friend.”

“That’s…good.” There’s that awkwardness again and Dan wants to rip his hair out in frustration. He wants to say, _it’s not a big deal!_ But instead what comes out is a half-bitter, half-jokey, “Well, _you_ went to America, so. And left me here with limited options in friends.”

Phil frowns immediately and looks like he wants to argue. Dan knows because Phil always has this tell before he says the first word: the edges of his lip inch down and he rolls his eyes, in quick succession.

Phil taps his fingers against the table and is about to say something when Jimmy _fucking_ Hill interrupts him—quite rudely, in Dan’s humble opinion— and slides into the seat next to Phil. Wraps an arm around Phil’s shoulders like they’re all old pals and steals a bit of Dan’s pancake.

_Arse._

“Well well well Philip my dear. How nice it is to see you again,” Jimmy says—smirks, even, probably to piss Dan off—and scoots closer. “How was big ol’ New York, then?” And then, in a heartbeat, “Meet anyone?”

Jimmy’s blatantly fishing, Dan knows that much for sure, but he saves his glare in favour of holding his breath for Phil’s answer. If _he_ had asked, Phil would’ve awkwardly brushed it aside and distracted him with a rumor he heard about Brendon Urie. But Phil always has been awkwardly honest around his other friends— almost like a default for being too bloody nice all the time—and now’s as good time as any to get a response out of him.

“Uh. Dunno. No one really caught my fancy.” And then, catching Dan looking at him with his eyebrow raised, he amends: “Americans are not really my type.”

“It’s cause you didn’t _try._ Could’ve charmed the pants off that lot, I swear to ya,” Jimmy laughs and pulls Phil closer by the shoulders; completely oblivious to the way Phil’s still looking at Dan as he traces the rim of his mug. They’re shaken out of it when Jimmy says, loudly, “Hey, my mate’s having this New Year shindig next week! You should totally come!”

And then, like an afterthought, “Dan, too. Though, there might be some drinking involved.” Jimmy waggles his eyebrows like a watchful Nan.

“I’m halfway to eighteen, not fucking _eight_ ,” Dan bites out, and even Phil looks a bit shaken at Dan’s sudden outburst. Phil looks on, wary, and reaches out to touch Dan’s hand that’s splayed out next to his plate.

“That’s not very nice,” Phil says quietly, too quietly, in harsh juxtaposition to Jimmy’s spiritedness, and the tension in the air feels muted suddenly as Dan lowers his eyes. It’s not like Phil _doesn’t_ know that Jimmy has never been Dan’s favourite person but—it still feels like Phil’s taking Jimmy’s side and not _his._ Also, Phil sounds bloody patronising and Dan wonders what that’s about.

Maybe Phil _likes_ Jimmy, Dan thinks suddenly, and it’s like a weight has deposited itself in Dan’s stomach. Two tonnes worth and sinking down further into his gut. _Well then,_ he thinks, _Phil can fucking fuck the hell off to New York with fucking Jimmy and I don’t give two flying fucks._ (And if he cries a bit later about it, well. It’s no one’s business except his own.)

Phil and Jimmy have long moved on in the conversation—even if Phil keeps darting his eyes Dan’s way—and Dan feels an itch to say something and get over this weird rush of anxiety he feels whenever he meets Phil’s eyes.

“Er, if Phil’s going to the party, I’ll be there to,” he says eventually, when they get up to leave and Jimmy’s hovering awkwardly by them. Phil smiles reassuringly—while Jimmy’s face falls a bit—and Dan seems to have made the right decision.

“My friend PJ—he’ll come too, if that’s ok?”

“ _Oh,_ ” Phil exhales, the same time Jimmy goes, “Sure!” in a fake chirpy tone, and Dan feels infinitesimally better about it all. If PJ’s there, he’d feel ok about Phil possibly leaving him alone to hang out with Jimmy and maybe— _maybe_ then he can play the part of wingman without a sore lump in his throat.

Yeah, yeah, this might work.

 

-

 

Christmas washes over them a few days after, and it brings a fresh blanket of snow to cover parts of Dan’s garden—he’d go out to snowball fight his brother or something if he wasn’t so bloody unproductive in the festive season.

Christmas day itself is always a bit weird. It’s not that Dan _doesn’t_ enjoy the feast and the presents (mostly socks because, for some reason, Dan’s family has deep-rooted resentment towards sentimentality and paying more than five pounds for a present), his problem lies in the fake week-long merriment—a stark contrast to the bleakness of life, or whatever existentialist mood Dan’s in on Christmas morning.

The only upside to the Christmas period is usually the Lesters’ Christmas tea: where most bloated neighbours end up after Christmas lunch to have some sweets and to escape neurotic family members for the evening. Dan’s been to theirs every year since the tradition started that first year in Wokingham, as a small boy wobbling over to wherever Phil was, holding his hand and chasing too many hamsters around the house.

It’s a short walk to the end of the road, Dan having to burrow closer into his woolen scarf and trying hard not to slip on some frozen ice by Mr. Kim’s house. He carries a tin-foiled container with the last bit of Christmas ham precariously in his right hand and trudges the path he has travelled so many times before.

Mrs. Lester greets him with a massive kiss on his cheek and Dan breathes in the familiarity of her scent and wonders how he’d gone so long without seeing the Lesters while Phil was away. He’d been invited over—not that he ever needed invitation anyway—a few times over the four months but couldn’t bear the visit. Not to Phil’s home, his bedroom, to the places he’d left behind and the memories they’d made. Truthfully? Dan would’ve felt an _awful_ lot if he’d visited. (Which says a lot about how attached he is to Phil, and that, in itself, is too much contemplation—even for the Chief Contemplator—this festive season).

He shoots a hi over to Mr. Lester, hugs Martyn comfortably and gives him a friendly jibe when he sees Martyn blush over talk about his new Swedish girlfriend, and heads off to find the man himself.

“He’s outside,” Martyn tells him, unprompted. He then swallows an _entire_ mince pie. He’s a total weirdo; Phil was right to say all those years ago.

Dan stalks over to where Phil’s sitting on the slide outside (he’s fucking crazy, too, it’s what— _2_ degrees?) and lifts the right ear pad of Phil’s headphones before he shouts, “Philip!”

Phil does this aborted karate move, and his right arm swishes the air, effectively disconnecting his headphones and suddenly, his phone blares loudly to the tune of _You Are The Music In Me_ —the Sharpay and Ryan version because it’s secretly always been his favourite. Dan laughs maniacally, dancing around and mouthing the words they both know by heart while holding his hand out to Phil, and for a solid two minutes they’re wiggling their bums to HSM in the middle of fucking winter, and Dan—Dan _couldn’t_ be happier.

“Gosh,” Phil giggles as they collapse side by side on the garden bench and they turn to each other and grin some more. Dan says, "You dance like you're a long lost member of the Wiggles, btw, complete with the Shakira hips."

Phil rightfully chooses to ignore Dan's remark and says, “Hi,” as he cuddles closer to Dan, “ _Hi._ I missed you.” Dan shoots him a bewildered look—that he hopes conveys _I saw you a couple of days ago??_ And _are we secretly in the twilight zone and time is just a construct??_

Phil shrugs in response. There’s a beat before he says, “Since I’ve been back. Dunno. S’ like you just seem uh, different? Like far away.” He softly knocks Dan’s temple with his knuckles to prove the point.

Dan wills himself to look away and takes a deep breath. He finds it harder to dispute Phil’s words than to watch his face when he says them; eyes decidedly a dimmer blue and his mouth quirking into a slight frown. Both seem like a permanent fixture around Dan these days and Dan wishes things weren’t so hot and cold between them.

“Busy, not much more I can say there, mate—“ he forces out a laugh and drags a hand through his hair. Phil tracks the movement and there’s a split second when his eyes dart down to Dan’s lips like they’re wont to do. Phil shakes his head.

“Busy…with PJ and stuff?”

Dan, distracted by the cold and Whatever The Fuck Phil’s Eyes Are Doing, shrugs absently. Phil leans away a bit, putting a more appropriate distance between them and Dan chases his warmth. “Heyyyy come back,” he whines, pouty eyes because he knows Phil could never resist them.

“Your cute puppy eyes have no use on me, Danny boy,” Phil sniffs, but there’s some semblance of a smile on his face. “Remember the last time?” Phil says pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

And Dan _does._ God, he remembers persuading Phil into letting him borrow his phone to quote “innocently trawl through his Tinder profile” unquote. And trawl, he does. By the end of it, Dan swiped right _only_ to those in the over-fifties category. Half of them were their _neighbours_ ! Who were married! —to which Dan had muttered _unhappily married_ under his breath.

“I do,” Dan says amusedly, recalling how Phil took every precaution to hide his face to avoid facing said possible romantic matches: from their old Maths teacher Mr. Harris to Mrs. Kathy who owns the bakery they frequent. Dan even helped him make a Mister Potato mustache out of cardboard for added _incognito_ _effect._

“Christ, we’re the biggest idiots alive.”

“We _are._ ” Phil smiles, fond and his eyes decidedly a lot more green, and Dan can’t help himself when he asks. He clears his throat. “So, what ‘bout university, then? Any plans?”

Phil takes a sharp inhale of breath like he wasn’t expecting the question—not so soon, at least—and he turns to Dan. “Uh. Nothing like—um, concrete yet.”

“Oh?” Inside, they’ve started party games and Dan knows the conversation is as good as over when they hear Martyn’s calls for Monopoly.

“Yeah. Um, I’m waiting for some things to like happen, I guess, before— um, before I make a decision,” Phil says, eyes searching Dan’s face, weirdly intense. Phil’s explanation is vague at best, but Dan knows better than to prod at a sore spot. Not at Christmas, at least. He settles for a lighter tone.

“What d’ya reckon then? Will these mysterious Things _happen_?” Dan jokes, picking at a rusty part of the bench.

Phil’s getting up, dusting off his coat before he pauses. He turns to Dan and for the longest moment he seems to contemplate something before shaking his head.

“Dunno. I— I hope so.”

 

-

 

The sky is turning crimson when they arrive at the given address—the indomitable trio of Dan, PJ, and a hesitant-looking Phil between them—and Chris Kendall is halfway to flat-out drunk when he greets them.

“Dan!!” PJ whispers hurriedly, elbowing Dan sharply in the ribs. “You didn’t tell me it’s _Chris Kendall’s_ party!!” And _oh_ , Dan hadn’t realized it before, either. _Oh shit._

“Yo dudes, thanks for coming,” Chris says, leaning against the doorjamb with a beer can in his right hand and the distinct smell of smoke wafting from inside. Dan’s got half a mind to turn around and ditch but Phil drags him in before he can, and by extension, he drags in PJ.

(The first time they’d both met Chris Kendall was at a party on the last day of summer; Dan and PJ both invited to this “huge fucking end of hols party” by like ten people via various group chats. They’d pledged to stick by each other till the end—because frankly, Dan was afraid he was going to be trampled by like a gazillion sweaty-bodied seventeen year-olds.

They’d even pinkie sweared and everything!

But midway through, Dan lost PJ in the throng of people and a haze; he ended up accidentally walking in on Chris blowing PJ in an empty bedroom. Which: weird. Also the day PJ had his big Sexual Awakening and realised he was bisexual and probably had been for a while.)

“Dan!!” Again with the elbowing, _god_. “He’s looking at me! What do I do?”

Dan takes PJ by the shoulder, practically shoving him in Chris’ direction. “You wanted to have some fun, yeah? Fucking go, already.”

Realizing he’d practically offered up his support system to the nearest piece of meat available, Dan doesn’t feel as benevolent. In fact, all he feels is pretty alone. Phil had gone to get them drinks ages ago but Dan thinks he’s probably caught up talking about his New York escapades with some friends from school. Without much to do, Dan surveys the party from his permanent spot in the corner.

In the grand scheme of things, the party is a complete blowout. There are probably only about a dozen people loitering in the house, two couples snogging heavily in the gardens. Dan thinks they’re all here under promise of loads of booze—which Chris has definitely delivered, judging from the row of beer bottles on his parents’ kitchen table—and an obscure indie playlist.

A friend from school comes up to him—Aliya, Dan thinks her name is, an exchange student from Idaho—and bumps his shoulder in a hello. “Hey, stranger!” she says brightly, wearing a sparkly shirt that says ‘It’s Britney, bitch’ on the front. Relatable. “How’s your hols going, man?”

Dan shrugs. “S’fine, Ali. How’re _you_ fancying a very British Christmas and New Year?”

“Alright, I figure? It’s a lot less boisterous than the States, I can say that much. Missin’ home a bit but that’s life, ain’t it? Going home soon anyway, so I thought I’d experience some true British drinking before I do.” She laughs, tips her beer towards him and asks if he wants a drink.

“Nah, issokay, Phil’s getting me something,” he replies, cheeks flushed in the cold. Someone bloody well turn on the heating soon or Dan’s going to have to be dragged home as an icicle, frozen, before the new year looms. 2018—Dan thinks with a shudder. He’s about to be _eighteen_. When did Real Life catch him so quick?

“Ah, Phil, the boyf. Haven’t had a chance to meet him yet! He’s around, I presume?” Aliya asks while comically cupping her hands around her eyes to look for the mysterious ‘Phil’. Dan giggles before he shakes his head. “Not... _anything_ , actually. Just a friend,” he says, scuffing his shoe against the floor—just on the side of petulant.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Aliya says and Dan frowns. Why does no one take his word for it? Not even an American exchange student who knows bugger all about _him_ , much less his relationship with Phil. Dan can’t help but to think about PJ and his insinuations about him and Phil. For some reason, that’s harder to accept. With PJ being Dan’s other best mate—and designated unpaid psychiatrist— and all.

Dan’s resolution next year? To get to the bottom of this shit.

“—yeah, so I told him as much, and he said he’s had feelings for me too. Like legit _I like you so much_ feelings, like I had! Can you believe it?” He only manages to catch the last part of Aliya’s story and feels guilty for being all wrapped up in his head for the majority of the conversation. He tunes in, and nods in— at least, what he hopes is—an understanding way. God, he’s not nearly drunk enough for her boy problems.

At the end, Ali giggles, covering her mouth. “You’re not listening, are you?” Dan looks down, sheepish, and it’s enough of an answer for her. “Well. If you _had_ been listening, you would’ve realised that it’s good to take a chance sometimes.”

Dan doesn’t follow.

Ali raises an eyebrow. “You and Phil? Like, what I was saying _before_ —” she sniffs pointedly, “I told my best friend I was madly in love with him. And now we’re proper together and shit, so. Don’t let fear hold you back, yaknow,” she says with a smile and a shrug.

Dan, in turn, resists the urge to thunk his head against the wall behind him and bemoan the shit rom com that everyone perceives his life to be at the moment.

“Yeah...thanks. I’ll keep it in mind,” he finally says, trying to sidestep his way around her. He’s had enough of everyone at this party—and he’s only spoken to _one_ other person— and just wants to nurse a drink in the corner until midnight.

Ali calls out drunkenly after him, “Fate will find a way!” Which is probably the most _cliché_ thing anyone has said to him but Dan nods all the same.

 

-

 

“All right?” Phil says when he finds Dan finally, about a half hour later. Dan’s seated on the staircase and leaning heavily against the wall behind him. He currently is radiating a pathetic aura—probably why no one has come up to him, just glanced his way and shot him a pitiful look. By now, half of the partygoers definitely think Dan’s homeless, or something. Whatever.

Dan nods at Phil’s words, despite the fact he feels like shit, and the screwdrivers he’s been downing (daintily, of course) haven’t been helping one bit. “PJ’s not around? Where is he?” Phil asks, sounding miffed. Probably by the fact that he’s going to have a sloshed neighbour to walk home later. Not their first time, anyway. Dan sits up straighter at that and pats the spot beside him.

“Not here. Come. Cuddle me.” Dan’s apparently only able to vocalise one or two word sentences but he’s coherent enough for Phil to not only cuddle him but _also_ tangle his fingers in Dan’s curls to idly play with them. Two of his _Most Favourite_ things. Phil Lester: his most favourite person.

“Christ, I love you so much,” Dan says then, burrowing closer into Phil’s collar and inhaling the thick scent at his pulse point. He might be a _teeny bit_ drunk already—he blames it all on Aliya and PJ and a _very_ generous ratio of vodka to orange juice in his last few drinks. He’s in a weird state: hyped from too much sugar (because internally he’s five) and buzzed from the, well. Chris’ fault, that.

“Are you _sniffing_ me?” Phil asks amusedly.

“You smell good. America was good,” Dan says, a bit out of it. “You look _so_ fit sometimes I feel half like ripping your clothes off and half like murdering you to get your face.”

“Um,” Phil giggles. “Fascinating opinion. Though, you look extra extra good so that’s unfair, too. And there’s probably _other_ ways to get my face on your body,” Phil retorts pointedly, his innuendo the only thing Dan registers immediately.

They’re both laughing now—and it’s weird. Are they flirting? What is this weird compliment session they’re having? Dan’s too drunk for this warped reality, honestly. (Extra honestly, this is the most comfortable he’s felt in Phil’s presence for a while now. He’d frame a play-by-play and hang it on his bedroom wall, if he could.)

It takes Dan a second to realise the lack of their usual dynamic. The non-flirting, uber platonic best friend dynamic, a steady line they unconsciously Do Not Cross. He usually keeps his “Phil File” locked securely in the deepest recesses of his mind, cordoned off with very CSI-like crime scene tape. They _don’t_ flirt, at all. Dan wonders why this day is different.

A bad kind of different, he resolutely decides.

Trying to divert the topic, Dan asks, “Jimmy’s round? Not trying to shag you yet?” He smirks like a proper Wingman and refuses to react to the way Phil’s face falls. And the way Phil’s arm retracts from his waist.

“He’s _not_ into me,” Phil mumbles, the giggly mood broken. Does Phil sound sad? Jimmy’s a giant dickwad anyway, Phil’s not missing out on much. Dan can only ask—if only to try and gauge the turn this conversation is taking—”Do you...want him to like you. Like _that_?”

Two ways it can go:

One, Phil admits he _does_ like Jimmy and Dan has to work extra hard to persuade him otherwise. Or, two, in which Phil actually fucking _hates_ Jimmy’s guts and it can be a little bonding session where they both just laugh about how bad Jimmy’s hair looks all the time.

Phil replies with neither. In fact, he doesn’t reply at _all_. He seems to shake off Dan’s question and suddenly turn it on its head. “Maybe. You? Where’s PJ gone then?”

Dan—Dan _has no fucking idea what Phil’s on about._

Dan’s honest in his answer because at least _one_ person in this conversation needs to be. “Fucking off with Chris, last I saw.”

Phil’s gaze turns murderous. “ _What?_  He’s— _Dan_ , you can’t be fucking serious? He’s with bloody _Chris Kendall,_ the person who welcomes virtually everyone with open legs. He’s...it’s like you _don’t—_ ” He trails off and Dan’s bloody annoyed, all of a sudden—he’s also a relatively grumpy drunk when it matters— and he takes Phil on with full throttle.

“I’m what? A bad friend, is that it?” Dan asks, his tone vicious and dangerously low. He’s had fucking enough of this. “Because newsflash, Phil, s’not like you’re the best mate to walk the Earth either, innit? Not even telling me you’re considering university in fucking _New York City_ when you know, I know—it was _supposed_ to be London for us.” His voice breaks at the end but he ignores it.

Phil looks taken aback, like he never expected Dan to _find out,_ let alone _ask_ him about it. It’s like that with them. Nothing’s a problem until it’s fully vocalised, and even then, they don’t stay angry at each other for long. Something about not going to bed upset, Phil had said, and Dan never liked arguing with Phil to begin with. Things usually resolve _themselves_ , more often than not. A quiet understanding and more boundaries put up to avoid the same mistakes.

Then again, they’ve never argued over something _this_ massive before. Nothing more important than Phil cheating a bit during Mario Kart, or Dan finding Phil scarfing down his cereal during the morning after their sleepovers.

Phil meets his gaze with sad eyes but Dan takes it upon himself to glare a bit longer—even as his eyes crease less angrily now and he’s far more enraptured by the way Phil’s irises have turned a dark, stormy blue. A shade he hadn’t seen before.

Phil nods hesitantly, eyes downcast. “I’m not going to lie to you, Dan. I _have_ applied, but—”

It’s then—of course, it’s right _then_ —that Jimmy slides over to them, bumps his hip into Phil’s. “Soz, _babe_ , am I interrupting something?” He smiles brightly, too bright for the situation he just walked into, and Dan scoffs and turns away.

“Uh—” Phil stammers, looks at Dan, and Dan wants to barf after all that has happened in the last hour. Instead, his eyes well up with fat, hot tears, and Dan realises he needs to get away before he becomes a laughing stock in front of Jimmy and—and _Phil,_ both.

“Well.” Dan scrubs at his eyes furiously. “Nice seeing you, Jim, but I gotta to head out to, um. See my Nan. New Years, and all that. Thanks for the invite,” Dan says hurriedly, slipping past the couple and refusing to look back at Phil, who he vaguely hears calling out his name.

Luckily, Dan spots PJ hanging around Chris by the door as he leaves and goes to wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull him into the tightest hug. “Phil’s a dick,” Dan whispers softly in his ear—like he can’t believe he’s saying it at all— and feels the dam burst, all at once.

“Okay, okay, we’re leaving,” PJ says calmly to Dan, nods at Chris, and practically drags a sobbing Dan out the door. “Shit party, huh.”

 

-

 

(An Intermission:

When Dan was fourteen, he managed to land his first girlfriend. She was quite pretty, wore the most quirky floral headbands and was nice enough to ignore the fact that her boyfriend would’ve much preferred listening to music, or faffing around with his mates, than to initiate a conversation with her that went further than a bit of foreplay before a heated snog.

In retrospect, Dan wasn’t a very good boyfriend. Maybe the _worst_ one, he ventures to think, but she stuck with him for a year until he realised she began fancying another girl in his form. She began dressing up to impress _her,_ and soon enough, they began avoiding each other completely. He never felt bitter about the break up, not a fraction of it, but it was easier to pretend he disliked her than to acknowledge the jealousy that came with seeing how easy it was for her to just accept it. To accept _herself_ like that.

Dan’s first girlfriend was the first queer person he had ever encountered.

 

Phil was the second.

 

The day Phil told Dan he was bisexual came about a month and a half afterwards, but Phil claimed to have realised about a year before. Dan had heard _rumours_ , of course—it’s not like they were in a massive school anyway, and practically everyone knew then that Dan and Phil were attached at the hip. They weren’t exactly _shy_ to talk about Phil in front of him. In fact, everyone presumed Dan knew already.

“Phil dicked off with that guy, Charlie, after school today. Cute couple, huh?” a few people had asked Dan, and he’d shrugged it off, not knowing much about it. He assumed his mates were in search of hot gossip anyway because he couldn’t recall Phil ever talking about a _Charlie._ He couldn’t recall Phil ever talking about liking a boy at _all_.

Which is why, when Phil eventually told him that Tuesday night he was kipping at Dan’s, Dan began bawling before Phil could even finish his sentence. _Charlie kissed_ _me and I think_ — and the rest left unspoken. Dan can only imagine what Phil actually meant to say. _I think I liked it. I think I’m bisexual? I think you might be like me too._ Instead of saying any of that, Phil wrapped Dan in his arms and hugged him forcefully, like telling him everything was alright, and things weren’t going to change, that they would be okay.

After that, Dan didn’t speak to Phil for two weeks.)

 

-

 

“You know he’s gay, or at least some variation of that, right?” PJ asks, two days after the party. In those forty-eight hours, Dan doesn’t think he left his room, except to wee and for some Crunchy Nut when he got hungry. He spent forty-eight hours holed up within a four-wall boundary and wishing away the sinking feeling in his gut he felt each minute he didn’t hear from Phil.

Finally, it was PJ who texted. Who forced himself into Dan’s room and winced at the stink of despondency and chips, told him they were going for a quick run and he had no say whatsoever in the matter.

“Yeah, ‘course.” Dan shrugs. That sleepover night confession at least amounted to _that_ understanding, even if they didn’t do a whole lot of talking about it. That’s the thing, though, innit? The one and only time they spoke about the Thing, Dan ran out. Dan can’t blame Phil for not wanting to come clean about Jimmy, or any of the boyfriends he might have had in the past.

If anything, Dan’s the one who’s the coward here.

“Then what’s the issue?” PJ asks, gesticulating wildly like he does in Maths when he just doesn’t _understand_. Dan wants to ask PJ to join the fucking club but he’s a bit too morose for jokes at the moment.

As far as PJ knows—as far as Dan managed to tell him without breaking into a sob—Dan’s just angry that Phil probably fancies the div Jimmy. PJ doesn’t know about their argument, Dan doesn’t tell him about the university discussion and how Phil probably ( _definitely_ , Dan thinks) is leaving for New York in a few months. As far as PJ knows, this is just some dumb surface level argument that will disappear soon enough.

 _What’s the issue_ , PJ asked before. What’s _not_ the issue, Dan wonders angrily, kicking a pebble.

“Let’s think about this for a mo, yeah?” PJ asks, soft and understanding. “You’re mad that Phil’s most probably _copping off_ with Jimmy. But you’ve known he’s not exactly _straight_ for a while—”

“I’ve known for years,” Dan mutters.

“Ok, then, you also know that this was _bound_ to happen. The dude can’t exactly be hanging on waiting for you to just _get_ it, right?”

“Get _what_?” Though he knows what’s coming. They’ve had this conversation too many times before and although it’s Pointless, Dan thinks it’s therapeutic to be working his issues out rather than to bottle them up inside of him. Even if it’s not the entire issue. A problem shared is a problem halved, or summat. Better keep that in mind for his Lit exam, Dan thinks.

“ _Look._ Dan, you’re my best mate, aite, I wouldn’t say anything to hurt you. But you seem to be deluding yourself of something here, yeah?” PJ stops in front of him and rests a hand on Dan’s shoulder. He seems to be contemplating something—maybe physically knocking some sense into him with the fist that lies so close to his jaw—before he heaves a breath.

“Everyone with eyes knows you’re _it_ for Phil.”

Dan’s stomach drops.

“Think about it, yeah? Think about the way he texted you more than his bloody _mum_ when he was away. How— when you didn’t get in touch because of revision, fucking _nerd—_ he called _me_ to make sure you were alright. He _lights up_ when he sees you, and you’re not _that_ special lemme tell ya that,” Phil leans away from Dan’s attempts at swatting him.

“Maybe _you_ don’t bloody see it, but the dude’s _arse over tits_ in love with you even though he knows that you—” PJ says, stopping when he sees the disbelieving look on Dan’s face.

”Even though you don’t fancy him back.”

Dan looks down, scuffs his shoe on the pavement in quiet contemplation. Does he fancy Phil? If you’d asked him a year ago, heck, _two_ hours ago even, he would’ve immediately, on instinct, _denieddenieddenied_ . Shot PJ down straight and mumbled curse words under his breath in response. He just couldn’t _see_ it, see anything happening between him and Phil that wasn’t strictly bounded by friendship territory.

Then again, he thinks, when have they ever been particularly _platonic_? Heck, Phil jokingly _proposed_ to Dan in his back garden—on one knee with a tux and everything— when Dan was eight and didn’t know any better. They hold hands, they cuddle, Phil apparently _worried_ loads about Dan when they were an entire ocean apart.

“Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Dan gasps, his legs giving way and he’s forced to take a seat on the pavement underneath him. Dan feels dizzy all of a sudden, in information overload, and he physically is shaking from his knees to his fingers. It feels overwhelmingly like he’s been plunged underwater and he can’t hear anything except an ominous voice in his head saying _you love him, you love him._

And Phil—Phil’s _leaving_ soon, leaving _him_ in more ways than one. God, he fucked up so bad.

“I—I _don’t_ ,” he stammers out, rubbing uselessly at his eyes and trying desperately to catch his breath. Everything feels numb except the pain he feels so acutely in his heart. Phil, Phil, Phil, the only thing running through his brain.

“He’s completely _gone_ for you, Dan, and whether or not you admit it to yourself, that’s a fact that’s not going to change,” PJ tells him softly, now on the pavement beside him and rubbing his shoulder in sympathy. Dan sighs loudly, loud enough to wake up Mr. Kim from his midday nap, and feels his body shiver with sobs again.

With his chin quivering and his eyes welled up with unshed tears, Dan admits to PJ, “If he _loves_ me so much,” his fingers make a half-hearted air quote around the word ‘love’ and Dan tries to pretend it’s not as painful as it really is, ”then pray fucking _tell_ me why he’s going to America, Peej?”

PJ’s face falls even further.

“Oh, Dan, I didn’t—” PJ says, his grip on Dan’s shoulder tightening. “I honestly thought he was _joking_ about it or summat. The thought of him actually... leaving was a bit unbelievable.”

 _Yeah, you and me both._ Dan shudders through an exhale and burrows further into PJ’s arms. He doesn’t know what to do, that’s the thing. Phil used to spin tales about living in New York, becoming a film director and sneaking Dan on set to watch Leo Dicaprio in his remake of the Titanic. He can’t— _won’t_ let himself sabotage Phil’s dreams, especially if he hopelessly chooses to believe that Phil actually loves him too.

PJ shakes his head suddenly, tone more enthusiastic.

“Ok, Dan. No more moping, c’mon,” PJ shakes out of their embrace and puts both palms on Dan’s shoulders and forces Dan to face him. “I dunno why—well. Why Phil did what he did. Fucking idiot, honestly.”

“ _Heeeyyy_ ,” Dan mutters under his breath instinctively; possessively. _Only I get to call him that_. Dan sighs when PJ makes a face, “Ok, fine, continue.”

“But his only reason for staying is _you_ . Gotta knock some sense into him, haven’t ya? Use your puppy dog eyes and declare your undying love for him, or summat. It’s _you_ , Danny. If you want him to stay, you gotta _tell_ him so.”

Dan thinks about it. In fact, he’s sat on the pavement in total silence so long that PJ doubts they’ll be home before dinnertime. Dan thinks about how he felt when Phil left that first time—his family holiday to Florida when Phil was twelve and sprouting gangly arms. Dan made it his mission to hug Phil so long that his parents might leave him behind so they’d be able to spend some of summer break together.

He thinks about four months ago—almost five months now—and the way he tried so hard not to let his face crumple when Phil told him about his American Extravaganza, as he put it. And at the airport, how seventeen year-old Dan subconsciously did the exact same thing as his ten year-old self did: he held onto Phil for dear life, like never wanting Phil to leave his side.

The next time is going to be much worse, Dan realises. Especially if his feelings are left unsaid, and Dan never attempts to stop him like he has the chance to now.

Dan steels himself quickly, locking eyes with PJ and suddenly noticing how much darker the sky has gotten. “So, genius, what do we do now?”

 

-

 

_Mission Get Phil Back (not that he was mine in the first place :(((( )_

  1. Stop fighting him.



 

-

 

“Hey, mate, thanks for coming,” Dan says the moment he spots Phil a couple of feet away, grinning hesitantly when Phil approaches. Phil looks good— _breathtakingly_ so. His hair is windswept from the chilly breeze running through their local park and he’s wearing a white t-shirt that scoops low past his collarbones.

(It’d taken Dan a solid hour of phrasing and rephrasing that first text to Phil after the Incident. He’d flopped down on his bed, kept turning over and biting his index fingernail while staring at an empty text screen, the cursor blinking in an almost mocking way. Dan looked back at their previous text conversations, full of funny video links and Tumblr memes. The contrast between the easiness of their messages before and Dan now being flummoxed at how to even _start_ a message to Phil was glaring, painfully obvious.

At the end he’d settled for: _hey wanna hang out? park @ 4. we need to have a big boy chat._ )

Phil looks _perfect_ and Dan hopes Phil is impressed by his ripped jeans, denim jacket and his staple black t-shirt. God knows how much PJ had to go through with Dan asking “does this make my arse look fantabulous” with his every pair of jeans. Objectively, Dan looks fucking _fit_ but for some reason, Phil refuses to look him in the eyes, instead his eyes trail the grass beneath him.

“All right?” Dan asks.

“ _I’msosorry_ —” Phil exhales in a rush suddenly, lifting his eyes slowly to meet Dan’s gaze. Dan gasps. Phil’s eyes—usually so bright and a combination of all the prettiest colours—are a dull green, almost grey. His eyes are circled with heavy, blue-bruised eye bags and he looks the most sleep-deprived since the day his A-levels results were announced.

“Phil—”

“No, I practised this, I just need to—Christ, I’m so sorry Dan. The idea of you being _miffed_ at me for so long was just...dunno. I hated that. I just need to say tell you that I’m very very sorry. For everything.”

This painfully reminds Dan of the time he and Phil were riding their bikes down the hill in Dinton, and Phil had accidentally bumped his front tyre into Dan’s and sent him tumbling down, rocks scraping his knees and dirt smearing on his hands. Phil had—and Dan counted—apologised _sixty-two_ times from the moment he  helped Dan up through Dan’s arm being stitched up by Dr Corden.

Phil has always felt responsible whenever Dan was hurt. Even if it wasn’t his fault—and _especially_ when it was, a bit. If Dan found it odd and overbearing at the beginning, now all it does is make him fall even further into his miserable pit of feelings. It makes him feel an _awful_ lot for Phil and he realises that’s not a bad thing anymore. It makes him smile at Phil’s words.

“Christ, you _absolute_ tosser. Stealing my apology like that,” Dan laughs, beckons Phil over to his side. “C’mere. It was _me._ My fault. I overreacted for nothing.”

“You’ve always been a _bit_ of a drama queen, not gonna lie. Remember when you thought me breaking my nose meant the doctors had to _chop it off_ ? You cried so much, you baby,” Phil says, a fond smile on his face before it dissolves into worry. “So, you’re— _we’re_ not going to talk about why it was that we fought about in the first place? Because I prepared for that grilling s’well.” He looks wary when Dan loops his arms around Phil’s waist and pulls him into a hug.

“Not today,” Dan sighs, willing away negative thoughts. The point of today was to make amends, and that they have for the time being. Dan just wants to revel in Phil’s warmth, his kindness, the way his hugs feel like falling into bed at the end of a rough day. They’ll talk about it, everything, eventually and until then, Dan will strive for relative normalcy.

“Not today because I have picnicked it up!” Dan reveals a basket of food under his Nan’s homemade blanket on the park table, a thermos of tea to accompany the scones, macarons—virtually every pastry from Mrs. Kathy’s shop. “A makeshift afternoon tea because we deserve to be _posh_ every now and then,” Dan grins.

“You already sound like the Queen, innit? That not posh enough for you?” Phil retorts, and Dan unattractively snorts out a bit of his tea. “Oi, all’s better than your _Northern_ accent. Couldn’t bloody understand you the first time we met!”

“And yet...too many years later, here we are. Best mates.” Phil smiles fondly, raises his cup to clink against Dan’s.

“ _Sap._ ” And then under his breath he mutters, “Best friends forever. That’s the plan.” He clinks their cups.

It’s a relatively smooth-sailing evening from that point onwards. They talk about school and the new American exchange students and Dan tells Phil all about some Björk subreddit he read through instead of preparing for his history test. Phil slides closer when Dan rants about his brother stealing his joystick, and Dan grins too wide when Phil makes his typical quirky, innocently salacious innuendos—and retorts with feigned disgust, as per routine.

As they’re leaving, Phil puts a hand on Dan’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Dan. About what happened. It’s not like me to want to _rile_ you up like that but what PJ was doing—Christ, I’ve mucked it all up.” Phil shakes his head.

“You deserve better,” is all Phil says before he scurries off— _Mum wanted me home early_ , he’d said as a crappy excuse— practically running away, and Dan’s confused but it isn’t the first time. He resolves to just _not think_ for once. Instead, he heads home, pale moonlight illuminating his every step.

 

-

 

> **Dan:** hung out w phil. good times.
> 
>  
> 
> **PeeJ Kendall haHA:** good times?? how good?? first baseeeee ;)) or ur @ mine and chris’ level already…
> 
>  
> 
> **Dan:** ew perv. nahh just talked. didn’t bloody well spend TWO hours of our frees to make up a stupid get phil back list and not follow it, eh
> 
>  
> 
> **PeeJ Kendall haHA:** heeeeyyy Not a stupid list. anyway glad you got your shit together you fuckwads. now LOVEFEST will begin hahahaha
> 
>  
> 
> **PeeJ Kendall haHA:** brb chris got here. taking off my clothes xx
> 
>  

For the umpteenth time, Dan chucks his phone across the room, rolls over into his pillow to muffle a stressed scream.

 

-

 

  1. _Rad Phil bday plans (woo him proper)_



 

January flies by too quickly for Dan’s liking. In between homework and frantic last-minute revision, he feels as if he’s been on this never ending rollercoaster with a steep, almost vertical drop at the end. Phil’s nineteenth birthday, of course, is the metaphorical drop; step two of his mega (poorly executed as of now) plan to love Phil forever.

It’s a few days before Phil’s birthday when he actually sits down and starts freaking out about it. It’s not like he hasn’t thrown big birthday bashes for Phil before—in fact, most of their mates know that Dan is _usually_ the one to plan it anyway—but this birthday feels more _monumental_ somehow. Like the birthday’s not _just_ a birthday, and there’s more at risk.

Of course, it’s _this_ year of all bloody years, the universe decides to throw him a curveball in the form of one Phil Lester telling him, “I don’t really _want_ a party this year” over a short-lived phone call. Even Dan, in all his petulant and whiny glory, wasn’t able to change his mind because apparently this year, Phil wants “a quiet night in”. Bullshit. Dan hangs up on him to reiterate the point. Utter _bullshit._

Still, on the night of the thirtieth—after a whole morning of texting Phil cat memes and purposely avoiding any birthday talk—Dan rings the doorbell of the Lesters’ and waits patiently for Phil to bloody _heffalump_ his way down.

“Dan?” Phil says, opening up. He looks confused, a bit amused too at the way Dan’s struggling to balance a bag and a cake he spent all evening baking, and stares before his common courtesy finally kicks in. “Come in!” and takes the cake off his hands.

A beat. “Dan! What the heck!”

Phil’s looking forlornly at the birthday wish on the cake and Dan smirks, settles the bag down, and wraps him in a hug from behind. Dan can’t help but notice the way his body fits so perfectly against Phil—he’s _almost_ Phil’s height now and Dan uses his position to snuffle in Phil’s ear.

“Well you’ve _always_ been a thicc bih, so. Doesn’t matter now that you’re nineteen and teetering on the brink of old age, y’know?” Dan laughs, dropping his lips to Phil’s shoulder and kissing over the fabric of his t-shirt. “Happy birthday, you dork.”

“Always know the right things to say, innit—” Phil deadpans but there’s an abundance of smile in his tone. “And thanks for this, Danny. Dunno what Mum and Dad are gonna say but Martyn’s gonna have a _hoot_ with this.”

“Aha, yeah, yeah we’ll save the phillussy part for your mum and Martyn can have the poorly drawn hairy balls. Did them for _him_ anyway,” Dan giggles, drawing away from Phil to lead them upstairs. He’s about to show him the party of his _life_ . He takes out a bottle of vodka, some balloons that say “Happy Birthday Dad”—how could Dan _not_ buy them—and Phil’s favourite crisps from his bag and lays them out on Phil’s bedroom floor.

“What happened to _no_ party?” Phil asks but Dan can hear his contentment anyway. He _knows_ Phil Lester, he knows how obsessed he is about parties and celebrations and though he doesn’t outwardly seem to want one this year, Dan would go to _amazing_ lengths to appease Phil’s subconscious. A party! Whether Phil likes it or not.

“I’ve toned it down, _Dad_ ,” Dan says in response. “It’s only me, you, and too much alcohol tonight. I’ve even asked Mum if I can kip with you, so it’s a party _plus_ sleepover! You get me double the time! Better be paying me extra for this,” Dan teases, flipping his non existent long hair over his shoulder and settling down on the floor against Phil’s bed, crossing his long legs prettily.

Dan tries to pretend this isn’t a ploy to get some alone time with Phil but he’s not fooling _anyone_ , much less Phil who knows Dan better than the back of his own hand.

Phil gives him a smirk that says as much. Dan, feeling a bit vulnerable, overcompensates by taking the first swig of alcohol and passing the bottle to Phil. They spend the next few hours like that, trading vodka and eating crisps and watching some dumb anime on Phil’s laptop. Periodically, Phil’s phone lights up with texts from schoolmates, New York friends—a boy named Jason who sends Phil three heart emojis, Dan absently notices—and family.

One text piques his interest, and not in a good way.

“Jimmy says he _had fun yesterday_ and _happy birthday love_ ,” Dan says as Phil’s walking in the room with a large-ish blanket and some biscuits. Dan tries to keep his tone indifferent and monotonous and his words manage to come out only _a bit_ bitter. He’s quite proud of that.

Being in love with your best friend, Dan’s realised, is all about _sacrifice._ At the end of the day, you value their happiness more than your own—which is a bit fucked up but Dan figures there’s nothing better than seeing Phil flash a wide grin, tongue poking out. Dan loves Phil, a whole lot more than he registers sometimes, and if Phil’s in love with Jimmy, he probably _won’t_ throw a large temper tantrum and shout at Jimmy to “sod off!!” like he desperately would want to. Anything Phil wants, as long as  _he’s_ happy.

He thinks about PJ’s spiel that last time, about Phil being blatantly in love with him but won’t wait forever. Maybe Phil’s moving on.

“Did you? Uh, have _fun_ with ‘im?” Dan asks, nonchalant despite blood pulsing loudly through his ears. A bit softer he mumbles, “Was it like….a date?”

Phil shrugs. “He took me out for a pre-birthday meal. _Not_ a date.” Phil looks abashed when he says it, like cheeks flushed and lips on the shinier side of red, and Dan shifts closer, relieved. The temperature goes furnace-like when Phil puts a hand on Dan’s knee, still looking intently at him.

This is a Moment and a half. There’s a beat when Phil’s blues flash dark and they dart from Dan’s eyes to his lips. No longer afraid to see where this might lead them, Dan shuffles closer, tipsily putting a palm on Phil’s hand that’s closest to his waist and takes a long, shuddery breath.

“Not a date?” Dan repeats, watching as Phil licks his lips—almost predatorily—and Dan feels himself blush at Phil’s gaze. The anime episode is almost done now and if you’d asked Dan what happened in the last twenty minutes or so of Korra, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. What he _would_ be able to answer though, is how much pure _lust_ he sees on Phil’s face, like a flipped switch and totally uncaged emotions.

“ _Not_ the person I to date the heck out off anyway,” Phil mumbles under his breath, and Dan thinks  _fuck it_ before he surges forward, capturing Phil’s lips between his own.

Within seconds, Phil’s lips part to make way for some tongue and ultimately, Dan thinks, he wouldn’t mind dying now, in Phil’s lap and tasting the sweetness of his kisses; pressing and insistent. Phil pulls him closer by the waist and drops wet lips across his jaw and below and Dan thinks if he wasn’t in love before, he _definitely_ is now.

“Phil—” Dan gets out in between kisses, only to spur Phil on, but Phil takes it as his cue to slow down. He pulls away completely in fact, and his face crumples in front of Dan. “Oh my god, oh my _god_ ,” Phil says, shaking and rubbing his face wearily.

“I shouldn’t’ve,” Phil tells him, so so guilty all of a sudden. Dan’s stomach, if full of butterflies and nice feelings before, now drops twenty feet and he feels bile rise up his throat. Dan never imagined a scenario where Phil _turned him down_ , much less _looked disgusted_ to have kissed him in the first place. It’s not that he’s a bad kisser, is it? Phil seemed to like kissing him back _well_ enough.

“Christ, I’m the worst person,” Phil says, scrambling away from Dan’s vice grip around his neck and practically races five feet away. “You and Peej— _crap._ I can’t—”

“Phil,” Dan says calmly instead, knowing full well how to deal with Phil and his rapidfire anxiety. “Hey, what’s the matter? I kissed _you_.”

“Yeah yeah but—that was because, I. God, I looked like I wanted to _eat_ you. I _can’t_ have, Dan. _You_ of all people know why I really, really _can’t_ ,” Phil says in a rush, drawing mindless circles in the carpet next to him, the half hard bulge in his pants out on show. How can Phil say all that _and_ still tempt Dan with a boner less than five feet away from him. How is any of this _fair._

“Why can’t you?” Dan asks, confused.

Phil looks seconds away from fuming at the ears. “What do you freaking mean? _PJ’s_ the bloody reason—why. God, _why_ are you making me spell this out for you?”

Dan’s jaw drops. “ _You_ like PJ?” Dan wants to let out a frustrated scream because which deity did he piss off to deserve _luck_ like this. Phil Lester seems to have a crush on every male in the immediate five-kilometer radius _except_ him.

This time, Phil snorts. “ _You_ do! And though I— I’m happy for you both, I told you before, Dan. But _this_ , it’s eating me up inside. I can’t be around you and not want to _do_ things. And then you let PJ fuck off with Chris and it’s like. You _want_ to see me get upset about your relationship. And— _Christ_ ,” Phil trails off, huffing and looking away.

Dan’s, well. Dan’s fucking ecstatic, to say the least. He lets out a startled laugh and covers his face with his palms in disbelief.

“Well, _newsflash_ you martyring motherfucker, I’ve never—nor will I ever—dated PJ _bloody_ Liguori. And that is because—prepare for the second bomb here— I’m fucking in love with you, like more than _anyone_ in the world, so there’s that to deal with.” Dan says with the most beatific grin, and watches as Phil’s face morphs from displeasure into absolute, blinding happiness. God, he’d confess a dozen times over for that kind of reaction.

“ _Dan_.”

Phil strides over to pull away Dan’s hands from his face and tips Dan’s chin up to meet his eyes.

“Dan, _Christ_ . You don’t even— I need you more than I need my glasses in the morning, I need you more than coffee or another snowy winter in the North. Sometimes I think I need you more than I’ll ever need clean water or _anime_ , and if anything, New York cemented that for me. I was lost without you.”

Dan has to ask, now or never. “Then...why are you—why _study there_ Phil? Like I was so fucking hurt when PJ told me that first time. It was like you—you didn’t even _think_ about me, about us and London and plans we made for far into the future.”

Phil’s face morphs into something more regretful. He reaches out to touch Dan’s elbow, and Dan only winces a little bit at the contact. So reverently soft, but Dan senses something bad incoming.

_In three, two—_

“I wasn’t thinking straight, like.” Phil shakes his head.

“ _‘course_ , I want a flat with you, Dan, heck, I want to spend the rest of my _life_ with you. But that was the issue, innit? I spent so many months away and coming back, I was just as in love with you as before. And I was _gutted_ ,” Phil explains, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, “when I figured you were with _PJ_ and all— ‘s just needed some room to breathe, and I sent in my application after Christmas.”

Dan chews his bottom lip. He desperately wants to postpone the conversation to a later date, but the ball has started rolling—and frankly, they’ve been avoiding the topic for too long. “Didja hear back from them then?”

“N-not yet. I also applied to London unis, like we planned because I really _didn’t_ want to give up—thank _heavens_ I did. Else I would’ve lost you before having you, wouldn’t I?” Phil smiles.

Dan takes steps closer, toe-to-toe with his recent mutually-agreed upon love of his fucking life. Dan feels lighter than a helium balloon and feels the stress of the past few months seep away, bit by bit. The fights have been hard on him—harder than he let on sometimes—and he’s happy they’re on the same page, and there’s a happy ending at the end.

He thinks about Ali’s story, that night of the party. “We’re a fucking cliché, y’know that right?” Dan laughs, circling Phil’s neck with his arms and Eskimo kissing his nose.

“Dan,” Phil gives him an unimpressed look, “I literally _proposed_ to you when we were eight. We’re waaaay past cliché, _babe—_ ” Dan feels a zing at that, and can’t help but flush ridiculously and plant soft kisses on the corners of Phil’s lips.

“Innit?” Dan says, quickly losing thread of the conversation when Phil nips at his throat and lower and lower. “Hey, happy birthday.”

Phil grins. “Best birthday ever.”

 

-

 

  1. _Valentines !! MAYDAY MAYDAY IMPORTANTTT!! (be the best boyf, buy him flowers?? ~~fuck him good~~  stop it peej)_



 

Valentines’ Day— if not a social construct to shame singles into a night of misery and self-loathing— is relatively nice as archaic romantic gestures go. Dan supposes it’s nicer this year than any other year because he actually has a _boyfriend_ to do all the cutesy stuff with—if you consider anime and popcorn the humdinger of romance—rather than spending the night watching Love Actually on the sofa with his brother.

Two weeks on, it’s still weird to consider Phil his _boyfriend_ , because their relationship isn’t that much different than it was before the shitstorm. Maybe it was their intimacy even as friends that sealed the deal. Sealed the _forever_ aspect of it. Still, there are _some_ differences, Dan has to concede, if the lovebites on his neck are anything to go by.

The night of Valentines, after extracurriculars and some revision (at! long! last!) he heads on down to Phil’s place with a special delivery in his arms. If memory serves well, Phil will totes love him forever—that’s the plan, anyway.

It’s most definitely the laziest gift, but:

“Are those—” Phil blinks, _"begonias_?”

Dan nods, grins widely, because ‘course Phil remembers. Out of them both, Phil’s more of the nostalgic one, retelling stories of their escapades at age thirteen to anyone who would listen. “Yep, the not half-dead ones from Mum’s garden.”

Phil surges forward and kisses him good, the bouquet of begonias between them soggy against Dan’s plaid shirt, clashing aromas with Dan’s cologne. Phil smells heavenly, as usual, and Dan wants to tear up suddenly at how perfect his life feels. After his Sexuality Crisis of the 2010s, Dan never thought he’d be this comfortable being _queer_ , much less be making Valentines declarations in broad evening light—in front of his boyfriend’s _family_ , because their whispers from inside aren’t _that_ soft.

Dan pulls away.

“Begonias because, well. You were poking them when I met you— _twattish_ move btw, Mum was _actually_ furious—and I’m pretty sure that was when _I_ realised you were the most special tiny person. And look where we are,” Dan gestures between the both of them, barely an inch of space there as it is. “We grew up together, and we’re probably going to grow _old_ together if all goes well and it’s like. Pretty nice.” Dan blushes at the end.

“Well, flowers are _my_ favourite and I’m proper chuffed and all that you liked me a as a snotty kid, but honestly, Dan? It was my _pleasure_ watching you grow up and become the blooming flower that you are now.” He pulls out one begonia from the bunch and passes it to him. “I love you, Dan Howell. Will you be my Valentine?”

Dan laughs, thinks about the beautiful boy in front of him. “Always.”

And that’s when their life together begins.  


**Author's Note:**

> whether or not i write a long fic again remains to be seen, but i've left space for a cheeky epilogue (with that all-important University talk) if you're interested in reading it :) please leave some special valentine's kudos or a comment, if you'd like, and you can find me on [tumblr](phanetixs.tumblr,com) and [twitter](twitter.com/phanetixs) for any prompt submission, low grade jokes and too much ranting.
> 
> have a great day, friends!


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